The Dragonball Z Supertrope Skitshow!
by nedthejanitor
Summary: THREE TROPES PER CHAPTER! FREE TIME INSERTED IN A WOOD-CHIPPER! Okay, but seriously, this is a bunch of sketches based off clicking random on a certain trope aggregator website. Sometimes they go together like Bacon, Lettuce, and Tomato and other times more like Beets, Lard, and Toenails.
1. Mr Satan Goes to Hollywood

**Disclaimer: Is there a trope for not owning Dragonball Z? If there is, I hope I get to name it. I would call it "Dennis."**

 _Okay, here I'm going to be doing something a little different, a little interesting. The madcap idea I have for this is something akin to improv. Right before writing each of these skits, I'm going to click "Random Trope" on the TVTropes website, and make a 1,000-word one-shot out of the first three I get, no matter what they are. How I incorporate them is entirely up to me, but those three tropes have to be involved somehow. Also, I'll be listing the three of them after the end of each skit, for referencing._

 _Y'ALL READY? LET'S GET STARTED!_

()()()

It was a warm evening in June. A black-haired young man clenched a bouquet of roses in his trembling hand. He didn't realize he had, through his super-strength, completely crushed them at their stems.

He, a shy young half-breed Mystic Super Saiyan dude named Gohan, was in the backyard of Hercule Satan's gorgeous mansion compound, waiting for a girl by the anagram-arific name of Videl who was promising him her hand in marriage. It had been two years since first they met, and it was time, they felt, to start hating each other like real adults. Only one problem; her father, Hercule, was still kind of a dick about Gohan. Upon hearing about the level their courtship had taken, he had the entire mansion locked down and placed such a strict embargo on his own daughter that her own dog wasn't allowed in the same room with her.

"How could he even take care of you?!" was the World Champ's argument, and Gohan had to admit, he didn't have much of an answer. His own family lived off his big, weird grandpa, and the only thing Goku had to augment that with was fish from a nearby pond. Just as a side note, a lifetime eating a nearly all-fish diet will do some shit to you. Gohan has to take five showers every morning before school just so he won't smell like a junkyard full of stripper vaginas.

So now Gohan stood in silent consideration of the windows on the mansion's backside, only two of which are actually lit up. Videl told him on the last day of school, "just throw a small pebble at my window and I'll fly out to meet you. Don't worry- the right window will be lit up." Gohan wondered why she didn't just encourage him to, y'know, fly in and get her, since it's not like Hercule's guards would be able to do anything to him, and God help them if they accidentally hurt Videl somehow. But he's not the one writing this shit, is he? So there.

Gohan used the focused laser that was his intelligence to deduce that he could, instead of throwing a rock at Videl's window and potentially destroying it, simply float up and knock on her window. He had learned (after many, many attempts) how to hold back enough of his power to not destroy anything he brushed his bare knuckles against. Now he just had to decide which one of these windows was it. That part was the hardest. If he didn't pick the right window, how was he supposed to win, doe?! It, truly, was a question of the ages. Salad or soup wasn't the question in the Son household, because it tended to be "lake full of fish or entire salad bar" instead, and beyond that he wasn't accustomed to making snap decisions between two tantalizing choices.

"Eenie meenie… erm… how does the rest of it go… aww, damn."

He finally decided, long after guards had found him and started shooting him vain, to float up to the window closest to the ground and take his chances. As he began to float, he was so caught up in his thoughts that he didn't notice the guards screaming in horror at him, just like he didn't notice the countless bullets that said guards wasted on him.

Gohan made it to the window and gazed in. His eyes nearly rocketed out of his face. Of all of the horrible things he could have potentially seen in his situation, this was easily among the top 10. Hercule stood nude in a luxurious bathroom, hands on his hips as he stood looking down at the bathtub full of steaming hot water as if to say, "oh, baby, I am going to enter you somethin' fierce." And he did.

Perhaps it was the sight of Hercule's naked genitals, or perhaps it was the sight of Hercule's HAIRY naked genitals, but Gohan's gag reflex was triggered worse than an overly sensitive tumblr poster, and he floated down from the window dry-heaving.

"CUT!"

A fat, groaning man with a big, red megaphone marched into Hercule's backyard, which is actually a movie set. "I suppose you'd care to know that we just wasted another big reel of film because you can't act, you fucking dick."

"I'm," Gohan paused to retch, "sorry!"

Videl opened the other window, where she is stationed during the scene, and peered down at Gohan, looking sympathetic and disgusted. "Should we just wrap for the day?"

"No!" The director screamed through his megaphone, or as it's called during parties, the weird beer funnel. "This set isn't cheap, you fuckin' amateurs! First it's Videl being too namby-pamby to do a fuckin' nude scene, then it's Gohan not wanting to look at man-ass!"

"Well, excuse me!" Videl said. "I'm not going to be harassed because I have standards!"

"Yes, and they are beneath those of my fuckin' film!" screamed the director again. "You two are the worst actors I've ever had the displeasure of working with, and I had a guy ten years ago who couldn't even piss his own pants! We had to put a hose behind him and the shot took sixteen days to get right!"

"Speaking of that," said Gohan, "I may have, uh, peed a bit in my pants because I dry-heaved so hard. Can I change right quick?"

The director gazed at Gohan in disbelief. "I can't believe it!"

Videl floated down to confront Gohan herself. "Jeez, Gohan, I'm just as nervous as you are, but you didn't have to do that."

"I didn't MEAN to!" Gohan snapped. "This wouldn't happen if your father would shave his hairy butt every once in a while!"

"It's his business if he wants to do that!"

"Not now it isn't! Other people have to look at it now! I mean, for Pete's sake, it's going to be on film!"

Videl shook her head. "No, he's going to be filmed from the torso up. We've already talked about that."

"We have to film again, from the top," sighed the director. "Gohan, I want your stupid fuckin' ass off this set the next time you screw up another shot like that."

Gohan's face twitched with the anger he had been holding back all day. "I need to go change my pants."

"You know what? No." The director said. "Just because of what you did, you have to film this shot with pee in your pants."

SO HE DID. And three days later, he died of a horrible infection of the crotch, and in honor of his sacrifice the director of what would later become the worst movie of all time had this chiseled on his tombstone:

"A REAL PEE-PING TOM!"

 **THE END**

 **Tropes: Amateur Cast, Grave Humor, Uptown Girl**


	2. The Ol' Wedding Tackle

Disclaimer: I would write a few more chapters of DBZ Pairings, but Even Evil Has Standards.

()()()

"This is going to be the greatest wedding ever," Ox-King said, slamming his fist down on the table hard enough to snap off a chunk of it, "or my name is the Ox-King!"

"Sir," Fitzy the Wedding Planner said in a gentle, slightly shaking voice, "I believe that _is_ your name."

"Oh, yes, I remember now," said the Ox-King jovially. "Well, this is just going to have to be a mediocre wedding then. Fitzy, what's the name of my daughter's wedding ceremony going to be?"

"I don't usually name weddings…"

"Well, that's interesting, because I don't usually fire wedding planners. What is the name of my daughter's wedding?"

"Uh…" Fitzy drummed his chin with his forefinger and struggled mightily to come up with something on the fly. "Could you give me about sixty minutes-"

"60 Minutes!" shouted the Ox-King with triumph instead of anger, as would be expected. "That's perfect! The 60-Minute Wedding! That way, I'll have time to catch my soaps!"

"Yes, sir," said Fitzy. He was confused deeply by Ox-King's stupidity, but refused to show it, feeling like he got off very lucky at that moment. "I'll be sure to let all of the guests know."

"And let 'em know to not worry about food! I usually make enough for a thousand people and then eat it myself anyway, but I'm on a diet, so only 900 portions for _this_ king!"

()()()

And so, three months later, the day of the wedding came around. Ox-King was there in his best suit that he made out of a tent from the camping section at Wal-Mart, and if you thought he looked cheap, oh my fucking God, you should have seen Goku. He looked like he sewed the undershirt of his tuxedo out of diapers. He didn't even bother to do anything about his hair when he woke up, and that shit already looks like a bird that got stuck under a lawnmower. And his tie, Jesus, he would have been better off cutting up the wristbands of his fighting gi and taping them together. It was just a mess, and what made it even worse is the effort Chi-Chi went through to look fuckable.

"Say, Chi-Chi," whispered Goku as one of her father's friends blabbed shit about the time Chi-Chi wet herself at the county Steak-Off (this was last week, mind you), "why are you wearing all that stuff?"

"You mean my wedding dress?"

"No." Goku pointed out the little necklace with knick-knacks on it, and the ring with the blue jewel on Chi-Chi's left hand.

"Oh," Chi-Chi smiled, "you never heard of 'something old, something new, something borrowed, something blue?'"

"…Is that a riddle? Cuz I'm bad at those."

"On a woman's wedding day, it is traditional that…"

As Chi-Chi's detailed description of every facet of that tradition made Goku regret ever asking anyone anywhere any sort of question about anything, a familiar villain looked on from far away. In his green hands was a disposable camera- BUT NOT JUST ANY! No, this particular camera was imbued with magical demon magic, making it have the sort of flash you'd see coming out of an old flash camera, you know, the ones the photographers in movies use on people that make them flinch and put their hands up.

"You may be able to beat me in a fight right now, Goku," growled the mysterious green man to nobody, "but I can ruin you in many other devious ways, starting with your precious wedding!"

So he waited and waited until, finally, Goku and Chi-Chi were together at the altar. A priest with a beautiful duck's ass haircut stood between them, droning on about God or something that a dude like Goku who has trained with the literal equivalent of a god (this early in the series, that is- he still doesn't know that gods really have BLUE skin, like Smurfs). While the priest talked, Piccolo (kudos if you guessed, it must have been impossible) weaved through the gathered crowd as inconspicuously as a green man in a dark druid robe possibly could.

"I do…" said Chi-Chi, and as the words were leaving her mouth, a flash slapped the side of her face, nearly knocking her down as Goku, himself partially blinded, looked in the direction of the flash.

"Piccolo?!"

The "demon" "king" grinned a toothy grin, his eyes aflame with delight at the wedding's ruination. "The only thing that's going to be more fun than taking these pictures is developing them."

"You'd never get service at a one-hour photo looking like that!" Chi-Chi said.

Piccolo raised his camera back up to his face, aiming the lens directly at Goku. "Oh, I think I'd find a way."

Goku dodged the enormous flash of Piccolo's demonic camera and did what he does best: eat. Specifically, he ate shit. More specifically, he ate the kind of shit you eat when you plummet directly into the ground face-first instead of pulling off a graceful acrobatic maneuver. He intended to kick Piccolo's camera away, but he instead kissed the ground.

"Oww!" Goku got up and rubbed his face. "Jeez, I forgot I'm not wearing my weighted gi…"

"WATCH OUT!" screamed the Ox-King, and it was just in time for Goku to roll out of the way of Piccolo's devastating top-down shot. Goku put his hands together- that's right, it was time for the big guns!

"Ka…" Goku began, and it was all Piccolo needed to score a hit.

"Oh, Goku…" Chi-Chi sighed.

"What an idiot!" added the Ox-King. "He just made himself an easy target!"

OR DID HE?!

…Yeah, he did.

Goku immediately forgot about the beam he was charging and put his hands over his eyes. "AAH! It's worse than a Solar Flare!"

Piccolo took his opportunity with the utmost seriousness. Instead of most villains who would gloat evilly and give his victim ample time to recover and launch a surprise attack, the force of which is more than efficient to destroy the enemy and leave JUST enough room for a bad pun about the villain, a credits sequence, and an ad for dog food-flavored cat food or some bullshit like that, Piccolo made funny faces behind Goku while kicking him in the ribs.

"FUUUUUDGESICLE!" screamed Goku in agony. Piccolo then elbowed the (unaware at the time) Saiyan to the ground.

"Looks like you aren't getting your deposit back for the suit," Piccolo grinned, "but here's something you're getting RIGHT UP YOUR ASS!"

Piccolo's energy beam devastated everything within two miles of the wedding, killing off everyone in that radius save for one man. His name was Fitzy, and from that day forward, he swore to never attend a 60-minute wedding ever again.

"I'm never attending a 60-minute wedding ever again," swore Fitzy to himself as he dusted off the tattered remnants of his outfit. He turned to survey the damages. "Why would he destroy himself like that?"

"What a coincidence…"

Fitzy's blood froze. His mouth felt like a pile of sand. He didn't have to turn around to know who it was, and he didn't need to be told he was about to die.

"…I was just going to ask you that for escaping my wrath the first time…"

 **THE END**

 **Tropes: Camera Fiend, Old New Borrowed Blue, Running Time In The Title**


	3. Mirror Match

"OH MAI GAWD!" the announcer squealed with joy to an audience full of screaming fans, "I'M SOOOO EXCITED FOR THIS BATTLE!"

It was the finals of the World Martial Arts Tournament. Gohan was alone in the ring. His opponent was going to be his own father.

"ARE YOU READYYYY?!" the announcer again screamed. The normal announcer had a cold and his understudy, a gorgeous young woman with bright pink hair and a personality to match, was filling in for him.

Gohan wondered why his father wasn't already out there in the ring with him. Normally, his father was all kinds of down for a fight. Even if it was going to be with his son—well, especially. This is the battle set up between the two of them since after Buu had been defeated. Gohan, with his mighty Mystic power, against a Super Saiyan 3. Of course, that's what it would be, if Dad were allowed to use any kind of Super Saiyan power instead of being too afraid of being recognized as one of the fighters from the Cell Games, or some other bullshit excuse. Instead, this would probably wind up being a clobbering.

"LET ME FIRST RE-INTRODUCE YOU TO OUR FIRST FINALIST, GOHAN SON!"

She raised his hand up. He waved and smiled awkwardly. He tried to look for his wife in the crowd.

"AND NOW OUR SECOND FIGHTER! PLEASE GIVE IT UP FOR… GOHAN SON!"

Gohan did a double take, then let out a small laugh at what was clearly just a mistake made out of nervousness on her part. He looked over to see if his father was at the far end of the walkway leading to the ring, laughing too.

At first, it looked as if it was his father, but with a haircut, and the same outfit as himself. Why, Gohan wondered in a moment of denial, would Dad wear the same outfit and cut the hair he'd had his entire life? Was this some kind of battle tactic, the sort of underhanded thing a villain might do? To his own son? This was the kind of shit that he'd be telling his therapist, if Saiyans didn't have an extremely powerful kneejerk emotional reaction to therapy that included regression into ape-like behavior involving such acts as "shitting in hand" and "throwing shit from hand."

But the face. There was no mistaking the face. It was the one he saw in the surface of any lake, any pool that he was about to dive in. The one that smiled at him in the mirror every morning right before he tried—and failed—to shave the facial hair he only wished he could grow. The one that kissed his wife on the lips, his mother on the cheek, and his daughter on the forehead.

It was his face. It was him. There was simply no mistaking it.

"BEGIN!"

The young woman wailed keeningly for the match to start before Gohan had a chance to contemplate asking for an explanation. Other Gohan lunged at him right away, beginning with a barrage of kicks that only he, himself, could dodge, and so, he did. Gohan had to concentrate very hard before he could mount any counterattack against the mirror-saiyan. Not because he was trying to think of a strategy—he liked to think he knew his own weaknesses—but because he was trying hard just to get over the fact that he was about to punch he, himself, in the face. Or the stomach. Whatever seemed like the best option at the moment.

In a way, one could say this was going to be a long, twisted game of "quit hitting yourself." Sure, Dad had played that one with him plenty of times during their time spent together in the hyperbolic time chamber, with mostly blood and tears as a direct result of said game, but this wasn't like that. He couldn't grab his own—the clone's own—hands for a long enough time to slap them against the clone's face. Gohan would have to think of another brilliant strategy to take this mad doppelganger down.

BAM! Gohan scored a direct hit on his clone's face. Immediately, he reached for his own nose, and the clone took that opening and used it to crush Gohan's hand right into his nose, almost breaking it. Gohan yelped in pain and flew backwards. _"What a clever bastard I am!"_ he thought to himself as he dodged another flurry of flying hands and feet. _"He must've thought of the same strategy as I did right when I did! Man, where does this guy get his ideas?! If I didn't know any better, I'd say he was—"_

The thought that he really didn't know any better took him by surprise. It was hard to keep in mind—this really was his clone. It had to be, unless someone had figured out a way to induce multi-form within him while he was sleeping last night, which was just ridiculous enough to be completely obviously what happened. Gohan smiled and kicked himself right in the face. But, oh shit, he and his clone weren't the same person, and he had just kicked himself right in the face, and he was now plummeting to the ground from where they had been up in the sky. The stones that made up the fighting ring broke his descent.

"OOH!" screamed the announcer. "HE'S DOWN! I'LL START THE COUNT!"

Gohan allowed her to start the count, though he had every intention of getting back up before it finished. He knew how dramatic these announcers could be between their numbers. All he needed was just a couple of minutes to assess the situation.

Questions: Where the hell was Dad? As much as he did have a penchant for abandonment, not showing up for a fight—especially with his son—was way beyond the pale for him. Goku would give his left arm for a fight, even a fight where he couldn't use his left arm. So he could only have been kidnapped or gotten lost somewhere. How in hell a guy like Goku, who can teleport at will, could be kidnapped or lost is anyone's guess, but those were the best Gohan could do at such short notice.

"SEVEN… EIGHT…"

"Uh oh," Gohan whispered. He had far less time than he'd thought. As it turned out, he only had about a minute before the announcer would finish counting to ten. Thirty seconds between each number! What kind of hurry was this bitch in anyway?

Gohan rose to a standing position, jumped out of the impact crater that he had made, and made the symbol for "time out" with his hands.

"UH OH," said the announcer, "IT SEEMS THE LOSING FIGHTER IS ASKING FOR AN INTERMISSION!"

A loud score of boos issued forth from the audience. Gohan wondered why they weren't all just a little bit curious that Goku, the fighter they had been watching throughout the entire tournament, was suddenly not in the final match. Gohan raised his hands in an attempt to calm the audience down, but when he wound up almost accidentally making a goddamn spirit bomb instead, he opted for Plan B: assault a woman.

Gohan flew over to the announcer woman, grabbed her microphone and pushed her away. It should be noted that, as he does all of these things, he is constantly dodging attacks from his annoying clone.

"I need to know where my father is!" Gohan said to the audience. "Have any of you seen him?"

The audience was too transfixed with the one-sided fight to listen to Gohan. The clone grabbed the mic back away from Gohan and tossed it lightly back to the announcer.

"THANK YOU!" said the announcer. "AND WITH THAT OUT OF THE WAY, LET ROUND 2 BEGIN!"

Gohan continued to fight his clone, hoping that he could at least win this fight before he started to search for answers. But the longer he fought, the less he remembered he was fighting. It was as if he was watching himself fight. But if this was him, then who was he? Whoever he himself had become, it was hopefully someone strong. Gohan closed his eyes to try and get a clear picture of who he was, only for my nose to be punched with enough force to bend the cartilage all out of shape. Gohan had been turned into Owen Wilson.

"A DEVASTATING PUNCH FROM GOHAN!" the announcer announced. "IT SURE LOOKS LIKE GOHAN IS IN TROUBLE!"

"Gohan?" Gohan, the original, said to himself. "Who is Gohan?"

There was only one way to find out. As his clone chased him, Gohan flew to the ground, touching outside the arena, surrendering.

"AND… uh… THERE IT IS!" the announcer said. "FOR WHATEVER REASON, GOHAN HAS PUSSIED OUT! WHICH MEANS GOHAN IS THE WINNER! LET'S GIVE IT UP FOR GOHAN!"

The audience clearly had no idea which of the Gohans the woman was referring to, so fuck it, they just applauded and booed at the same time. It was the strangest thing Gohan had ever seen. And I won't tell you which one I'm referring to.

"Hey!"

The announcer turned to look at who had come into her dressing room. "Gohan? Original or clone?"

"Original. Where's my father?"

"I told him to go and find some non-overcooked KFC before the match," said the announcer casually. "My guess is that he's somewhere between here and goddamn Saturn."

"Oh," Gohan said, believing her just because of the sheer casualness of the tone of her voice. "Well, then… why that?"

"Because." She went back to facing her mirror, adjusting her top hat that she had been wearing this entire time.

"That's not a reason," Gohan complained. "Stop acting like my mother."

"I wanted to watch two of you fighting," the announcer said after a brief pause, "instead of just one of you."

"Why?"

"Because I love you."

The woman stood with a knife in her hand. Gohan had no idea where she had gotten it from. She approached him slowly. Her eyes had taken on a deep, aching vacancy, the irises shrunk to the size of pinholes. Her smile was as close to looking like a painted-on clown smile as her face would allow it to look.

"I love you, Gohan."

She jabbed the knife at his eye and he grabbed it, crushing the blade in his grip without it slicing through his skin. "Sorry, but I'm married," he said, eyes sincere. "I gotta go find my father. Excuse me."

But as he was leaving, he stood at the doorway. He looked at his own hands. "I am always me," he said quietly, "and me is what I can never see… what I should never see… staring back at me."

"What about the you in the mirror?" the announcer asked.

"That's not me," replied Gohan, not breaking his gaze from his hands.

She smiled. She cut through him after all.

 **THE END**

 **Tropes:  
Cute and Psycho  
Dueling Player Characters  
Unbroken First-Person Perspective**


	4. Just Another Day

**Disclaimer: I think I forgot to do one of these last chapter, so here's two to make up for that. I don't own DBZ.**

 **Disclaimer: I think I forgot to do one of these last chapter, so here's two to make up for that. I don't own DBZ.**

"AHAHA," screamed the crazed man on the roof, "I AM BAT-MAN!"

"No, you aren't!" Trunks yelled up to the man. "You're just some dude!"

"Ah, but how do you explain my massive ears that allow me to hear everything that humans cannot?! Or my eyes, that do not work because I evolved without needed to use them?!"

"Well, that's actually biologically inaccurate. You see—"

"I AM BAT-MAN!"

"There's already a Batman!"

"I AM MAN-BAT!"

"Oh, fuck this."

Oh, excuse me, I should start from the beginning. See, Vegeta and Trunks, being the husband and son of Bulma Briefs respectively, were both told to go out and get jobs because the economy was imploding and people are only using capsules to put their other capsules full of absolutely nothing in. If it wasn't for the fact that the capsule carrying cases were, themselves, stored in capsules, the whole company would have went down. Which brings us to Vegeta and Trunks, two newly-minted police officers, arguing with some guy named Man-Bat-Man over whether he's Bat-Man and/or Man-Bat, and whether his dumb ass is going to die or not if he drops from a two story height. The answer is "no," of course, but Trunks has good reason to believe this guy doesn't know that.

"Are you an idiot?" Trunks asked the man.

"YES!"

"See, I told you, Dad," said Trunks.

"Son, I already knew," replied Vegeta. "Now why aren't we flying up there and getting the damned fool off the roof by force?"

"Because, we can't just use our powers to do everything," said Trunks, explaining it with the same thinning patience he'd had the last few times he answered a question just like this one. "If we do that, we'll be called freaks, fired, shot at, who knows!"

"And I'm supposed to care?"

"We need the money."

"God damn it."

And with as close to a blessing as he was going to get from his curmudgeonly father, Trunks began to shout at an idiot standing on top of a roof, who had gigantic ears, we're talking fucking kites attached to each side of his head here. Motherfucker looked like he grew a butterfly where his head was supposed to be. Motherfucker looked like he could be a flag if someone ran him up a pole. Motherfucker probably came out of the vagina ears-first rather than head-first or, more likely for the idiot, feet-first.

"I need you to come down here and talk with us!" Trunks yelled.

"Stop yelling at me!" Man-Bat said back. "I can hear you just fine, thanks to my big ears! By the way, I didn't come out feet-first!"

Oh, shit. His ears are so big, he can somehow hear what I'm writing about him.

"What?!" Trunks yelled.

"I said stop yelling! And I wasn't even talking to you!"

It was Vegeta's turn to take a shot at Man-Bat. So he did. He fired an energy wave, blasting right through one of the man's gargantuan ears, I mean they were really huge. Motherfucker—but, well, I've been over this. The man screamed in terror and agony, losing his balance and falling back onto the roof.

"Dad!" Trunks yelled. "Look what you've done, now we have to get a ladder!"

"Get a what now?" asked Vegeta. "What the fuck are you talking about?"

"A ladder, Dad. It's a device used to get up to high places."

"Oh, we used to call those 'garbage' on my planet."

"Ugh… I'll go get it."

SO HE DID! By the time Trunks got back with the ladder, Vegeta had already cleared the roof entirely, using some kind of crazy stuff called "the power of flight" and "super speed."

"Great, Dad," sighed Trunks, letting the ladder fall to the ground uselessly. "I suppose people saw?"

"Why don't you ask those drooling idiots over there?"

Vegeta pointed at a crowd that included the two saiyans' commanding officer and a whole shitload of pedestrians who were just walking by innocently before happening upon a spiky-haired police officer floating to the ground with a large-eared man slung over his shoulder.

"He should be glad," Vegeta said, gesturing to the big-eared man who now lay on the ground, completely ignored by everybody else, "that I even brought him down so smoothly. I could have just tossed him on the ground. Let his other stupid ear get injured."

"Jesus, Dad," Trunks said, "we spent weeks—"

"Hold on a second; who's 'Jesus?'"

"I don't know. Some guy who lives down the block from us?"

"Then why don't you use 'for Pete's sake' or something, if you're going to use an idiotic Earthling expression? It's weird when you use an actual person we both know!"

"Okay, Dad," Trunks said, seething, "what I was going to say was, we spent weeks—"

"You spent weeks," the pale-skinned, attractive police commissioner interrupted, finally gathering enough of her wits to make herself coherent, "going through all the training, all of the effort, when you had superpowers and could have just used those?!"

"Superheroes don't get paid, Commissioner," said Trunks. "With all due respect—"

"And quit saying 'with all due respect' every time we talk! Especially now that I know you could just fly over my head and dive-tackle me any time you wanted!"

"Sorry, ma'am—uh, that is, Madam Commissioner—"

"And as for you," the Commissioner turned her attention toward Vegeta, "this outrage toward our department will not stand! Officer Vegeta, you are fired!"

"Fired?" Vegeta said. "So, that means I get my 15 right? I get my pension?"

"No! You idiot, you've been here just over two weeks!"

"Yeah, 15 days. That's exactly—"

"Years, Officer Vegeta! Years!"

"Shit," muttered Vegeta. "If I'd have known that, I would have just killed this stupid big-eared bastard."

Vegeta and Trunks began to walk away in shame, but an attack from behind took them both off guard. Or, neither of them, since it didn't hit. But it sure surprised them! It sailed right in-between them and everything.

"What…?" Trunks said, turning around at the same time as his father to see none other than Man-Bat-Man standing up, blood flowing freely from his wounded ear, holding a can of silly string.

"Silly string?" the police commissioner said, shaking her head. "I never thought I'd see the day."

"Yes!" said Man-Bat-Man. "My attack has already had devastating consequences and—"

"We're fine," said Vegeta. "You didn't even hit us."

Man-Bat-Man's face faltered. The silly string dropped from his shaking hand. "This is an instance where eyes would really have come in handy…"

"You bet your ass."

And with that, Vegeta launched an energy attack that incinerated the disgraced, cowardly hero in seconds.

 **THE END**

 **Tropes:  
Blind Justice  
Ear Wings  
Evil Hero**


	5. Kiwi and the Secretary

In the far future, the world is… well, kinda different. Mostly, people are the same. They eat and stuff. But they also give up their kids as soon as they are born, because of a decree by the newest kind, who—get this—was a purple dog instead of a blue cat. That's what we call progressivism in action, ladies and gents. Maybe, one day, the DBZ universe will grow the balls necessary to elect a human.

But, in the meantime, a Saiyan Commander of the Armed Forces would have to do. That's right—Vegeta has been appointed by the king, at the suggestion of none other than the champ, Hercule himself, to oversee the doings of the military. Unfortunately for him, since the military in the DBZ world is owned by a one-world government, they have no enemies to fight unless they want to go look for some on other planets. So Vegeta had the armed forces on a duty they never thought they'd find themselves on—bully duty!

Ever since his own days at school, Vegeta hated bullies. Not because he himself was bullied, goodness knows. The people who actually did get bullied deserved it for being chicken-shit coward weaklings, in his eyes. No, his problems had to do with the other bullies at his old school that he had to beat off all the time—WOW, I did not mean for that to sound the way it sounded. What I meant to say is, he would find other bullies picking on his targets throughout the day, and he'd have no choice but to tug them away. Uh… you know, fuck it, that still sounds bad, but it's better than the other one, so I'm going with it.

Vegeta had just come back to the office from a long day of leading an entire fucking army around to schools to stop bullies from bullying. "Secretary woman!" he yelled at his secretary, who was female and sitting behind a desk in the corner of the room next to the entrance to his office. "Where is my water?!"

The secretary pulled her bee glasses off and let out a mighty scoff. "Hon, if I knew you wanted water, I would've squeezed some out of my leg-cellulite for you! Hah!"

"Damn it, woman," said Vegeta, "I have no time for your catskills tomfoolery today! My mouth is parched and I need a glass of water!"

"What are you going to use a glass of water for?" the secretary asked in her whiny, nasally voice. "I hope it's to wash your crotch with! I haven't seen balls that smelly since my kids rolled their soccer ball through a mound of dog poo!"

"Good God, woman, have you no filter?!" Vegeta exclaimed. "I may have hired you for your gift of insulting callers, but you're going way over the line with me! I am your superior!"

"Well, excuuuuse me!" the secretary drawled before putting her glasses back on and resuming her usual work of typing absolutely nothing into a computer that wasn't turned on. Vegeta just rolled his eyes and went into his office, where he resumed his job of punching into a punching bag that wasn't even there.

"We really need electricity," mused Vegeta. "And a punching bag. Preferably a living one."

About a week later, Vegeta was leaving his office one morning when his secretary did a rare thing—started a conversation with him.

"You have an appointment at three today with some woman who wants to talk to you about the psychological effects of parental estrangement on children who go on to become bullies," said the secretary.

"That sounds like the most boring thing I've ever heard in my life," Vegeta remarked.

"Agreed," said the secretary. "It sounds like when my husband lays on me for two minutes and tries to tell me later we had sex."

"Wow," Vegeta said, "you are letting me in on way more than I care to know about you."

So Vegeta left for a while, making no guarantee to anyone that he was going to be back in time for his meeting. In the meantime, the secretary sat by herself, musing for a while about her life. She thought back to when she first saw the job posting in her local paper, a weird place for the world's military leader to put an ad for a secretary. She just supposed Vegeta didn't know how to go about getting himself a secretary through the usual channels.

The fact was, it was hard to maintain the level of sassiness Vegeta had come to expect out of her sometimes. It was a relief to be alone in the office, so that she could just be alone, staring at her blank computer screen, thinking about the world. Sometimes she felt like Slurms McKenzie—she was tired of partying, or being sassy, and she just wanted to lay down and forget about trying to have some smart-aleck retort for every occasion. It was like she was an actor that was constantly staying in character. It was exhausting, but it was also what she was paid for, and paid fairly extravagantly to boot.

At about 14:45, military time, Vegeta returned. "Is there any chance you can cancel that stupid appointment?" Vegeta said grouchily. "I'm bored by useless blather and you took the appointment without my permission anyway."

"Well," said the secretary, "if I only did things when men gave me permission, I'd spent most of my time naked and squatting over my husband's face."

"Holy fucking God, woman," said Vegeta, "can you turn that off for just a minute and do as I ask?"

"…Whatever," said the secretary. She tried to cancel the appointment, but just as she was about to make the call, the woman walked in. She was fairly attractive and blonde, which made the dumpier, blacker-haired secretary jealous. As little as the secretary actually felt as far as any kind of feelings toward Vegeta at all were concerned, she still didn't like being the least attractive female in the room.

"I'm here to see Mr., uh… Vegeta Vegeta?"

"That would be me," said Vegeta, whose last name was Vegeta because fuck it, what other names do they even have on Planet Vegeta? Kakarot? What the fuck is that? "Let's get this shit over with. In my office."

The woman noticed something on the secretary's face that wasn't quite right. "We can talk right here, sir," she said. "My name is Kiwi Johannson, and I've come—"

"Hold on," Vegeta said, "that sounds like something someone would make up after trying for, like, thirty minutes to think of something."

"My name has nothing to do with why I'm here," said Kiwi. "We have to talk about your anti-bullying measures. They're harming more than they're helping."

"What do you mean?" Vegeta asked, but kept going before Kiwi had a chance to elaborate. "Our Wedgies for Wedgies program has been the most successful, uh, deterrent or whatever, since… fuck it, it's been good! I've enjoyed it!"

"That program is making bullies feel like they're being bullied by their own government, it hasn't stopped them from being bullies!" Kiwi replied. "You have no idea what you're talking about!"

"Well… I… uh…" Vegeta paused. "Secretary woman, take over for me!"

"What?!" the secretary shouted.

"You heard me!" Vegeta said. "Give her the same sass that you give me all the damn time! It's about time you grossed out somebody else with gross, sordid details about you and your husband's sex life!"

"Uh…" the secretary felt completely put on the spot.

"You make this woman talk to you about sex?" Kiwi asked. "Do you understand that's sexual harassment?"

"Oh, believe me, I don't make her say anything about sex. She offers me that information willingly. I'm the one who's being harassed."

"The boss put an ad in the classifieds section for a secretary who would act sassy to scare away what he called 'jerkoffs,'" the secretary admitted. "That's literally what he printed."

"Is that right?" Kiwi said. "That's not very professional."

"So what's your deal anyway, woman?" Vegeta asked. "Why are you here, trying to pick some kind of fight with me?"

"I have my reasons, you don't need to concern yourself with my vendetta against you because of my bullied child's buttock-related trauma at the hands of you and your shoulders."

"It sounds like I do," said Vegeta, opening the door to his office and sitting down behind his desk, leaving the door opened, "from the way you just worded that. Also, that kid isn't even your child. No child is raised by its own parents anymore."

Kiwi gave Vegeta a strange look, like he had just discovered something about her not even she knew about, but quickly shook her head in response to what he said. "It's being raised by me, so it's my child."

"Close enough," said Vegeta, "is what you're saying. Not quite there, but close enough. And that's just fine. Because—aw, fuck it, this isn't going anywhere."

Vegeta proceeded to energy blast both Kiwi and the secretary to death. Later, he would find, to his horror, that Trunks had started a band with Marron, Krillin and 18's daughter. That band's name? Kiwi and the Secretaries.

 **THE END**

 **Tropes:  
Bully Hunter  
No Blood Ties  
Sassy Secretary**


	6. The Tale of the Wandering Priest

"And so, we… uh, that is, I… intern this body into its grave, to be… uh, not missed by anyone for all eternity. Amen. And shit."

The priest, who was actually just some asshole in a white robe, closed his blank book and nodded to a room full of emptiness. He was in what could have once been a church—there was a row of untouched pews in the east half of the room. But there was no roof and few walls. The body was just someone who had been there when he walked in, looking around for something to eat. It was wearing the robe. Maybe it was supposed to be buried, but it wouldn't be. The would-be priest was content just to give a eulogy—burial wasn't worth the time. Too many other bodies around that needed the same thing.

The priest walked back outside just in time for one of Frieza's teabag ships to land. It was a spider-shaped ship with a door on its underside. Once it landed, that door would open, and a giant metal ballsack would descend from its body and plunge itself into the ground beneath repeatedly, teabagging the planet. This was Frieza's way of declaring his dominance over a recently destroyed planet. What purpose did it serve? The priest's best guess was that Frieza himself had a fairly inadequate ballsack and a shitload of money he could blow on absolutely nothing. Either way, he had a damn mean way of gloating.

It was just sun-up and the priest wasn't able to get to sleep the previous night. Hunger pains had a way of keeping a man awake. Another day of this wasn't possible. The priest wiped his forehead and licked the side of his hand, trying to get the salty water on his dry, papery tongue. The sun somehow felt hotter to him, filtered through the smoke of the ruined city he wandered through. He'd lived here all his life, but it was so destroyed he had no idea where he was. Just one landmark would have helped, but Frieza's people had just about flattened the city beyond recognition.

So the priest walked and walked, not even sure if he was covering any new ground. The last survivor he had come across was probably two days ago. They—being too burned for any gender recognition—crawled helplessly through, chanting what sounded like "water" under their breath, before one of Frieza's robot ballsacks crushed them. The priest didn't lift a finger to save them, because they didn't have anything more to look forward to anyway.

Down the street, the priest saw something in the middle of the demolished road that managed to distract him from his crippling hunger pains and general exhaustion. It was one of the ball-shaped ships the invaders came in on. It was open and empty. None of the monsters were guarding the ship like usual.

The priest stepped up to the ship, mere feet from the door. He could see inside—it was a dark void pockmarked with little red and green lights, some of which were blinking. Instead of taking another step, he leaned closer and closer to the structure. It was so hard for him to accept that there was nothing stopping him from just taking it. But he had no idea how to fly, and no way of learning. And quite frankly, the idea of being in space all alone terrified him.

The wind started to blow harder and the sound of one of Frieza's ballsack robots was getting louder with every second, the sound of its engine increasing as it floated over. Knowing it was either do or die, the priest scrambled to read the console in the thin beam of light reaching into the darkness through the still-open door. In a panic, he pressed the biggest, reddest button he could find. The immediate lurch and loud noise the ship made caused him to think he had either triggered some kind of self-destruct mechanism or the ballsack robot had made it to him just in time to crush him and prevent his imminent escape. His stomach knotted in horror, and he knew that he would have shat in his pants if there were anything in his body he could shit.

But instead, the ship took off, door closing with a violent, sharp click. The small window of the pod darkened almost immediately as the priest left the atmosphere of his former planet behind him. Terror gripped the priest, and he clutched at his own worn out clothes. "What have I done?" he said out loud to a vacuum louder than his imagination could even begin to fathom. Sure, he had escaped the terrible wave of nothingness that used to be his home, but he had traded it for, what, the cold emptiness of space?

Then he got to thinking. He realized it was worth it. One of Frieza's men had left this ship unguarded, available to the admittedly few bystanders that were left on the desiccated ruins of that planet, and in stealing it and using to escape, even if it was nothing more than a sophisticated means of suicide, was like spitting in the face of the tyrant. After all, what more could he do but inconvenience him in even the most minor way? No one in the universe stood a chance against him, or even his higher-up henchmen, for the most part. To fight him or any one of his people would have just been a humiliation for himself.

No. This was better. This was satisfying.

On the way to what would most likely be his death, the priest saw, to his amazement, a space station out the window of the pod. He was set to miss it by just a few feet. To his further amazement, the station had a very familiar insignia, one that he had seen on some of the men who had ransacked his planet. It was a Frieza satellite, or a sort of homemade planet, a base of operations for Frieza's lower-class soldiers.

The priest knew immediately what he had to do. He raised his robe, turned around, and mooned the fuck out of that base. If even one of those damn bastards saw him, he thought to himself, it would be the greatest achievement of his life. Maybe he'd crash land on a planet somewhere out there. Maybe he wouldn't. But it was better to starve to death laughing than to be crushed by a giant metal ballsack.

 **Today's Tropes:  
Lonely Funeral  
Unsportsmanlike Gloating  
War Refugees**


	7. Goku and Vegeta Meet the Space Pharaoh

"Okay, Vegeta," Goku said, pinching the bridge of his nose to distract himself from a headache that was slowly but surely coming on. And meanwhile, for the first time in Vegeta's life, he felt like Kakarot was talking down to him instead of the other way around. "So the only way we're going to be able to save New Namek from the giant—what was it now?"

"A space pharaoh, Kakarot," Vegeta said impatiently. "I've had to tell you that fifty times, and you're acting like I'm the stupid one around here. It's not my fault if you're too ignorant to know what that is."

"Right, right," said Goku. "I really can't believe I can't remember that. The only way we're going to be able to save New Namek from the giant… space… pharaoh, is if we, uh, put on our Saiyan armor, transform ourselves into our giant ape forms, and…"

"Seduce it," Vegeta helpfully finished.

"Yeah, that's the thing." Goku stood up. They were both sitting in Goku's living room, hoping Chi-Chi wasn't able to overhear them. "I've fought my whole life, Vegeta. I mean, I can't remember very many times in my life where I wasn't in some kind of training or a fight for my life or the fate of the whole universe… but, I don't know, Vegeta. I think this might just be the greatest challenge of my life so far."

"It is going to be more difficult than you can possibly imagine," Vegeta said in solemn tone different from his usual masculine Saiyan posturing. It was important for him personally to impart the deep seriousness of this situation to the other full-blood Saiyan warrior now standing before him. "Nothing you have ever done in your life could prepare you for something like this. Well, unless you're trying to impress a malevolent cat-god of some sort. Then, you know, maybe you've already had to do some things you aren't too proud of."

Goku blinked. Vegeta wasn't supposed to be talking about Beerus this early—they weren't quite at that part of the show yet, and that was mainly because the author hadn't seen it. "Are you for real about that, Vegeta?"

"I'm afraid so, but I have no time to get into that right now with you. The most important thing we can do right now… is prepare."

So they did. Vegeta led Goku through a series of tests to demonstrate his control over his own sexual desirability. The crotch-thrusting alone that took place in the gravity chamber over the following several hours could have potentially destroyed another planet. In this intrepid reporter's eyes, it was the most dazzling display of coy homoeroticism since every single wrestling match he had ever seen. The difference being, the wrestlers have a better excuse for wearing nothing but tight underwear than the Saiyans training their sexuality in the gravity chamber. Honestly, this reporter would like to explain this boner he has right now, but he doesn't even understand it himself.

"Remember, Kakarot," Vegeta said between thrusts of his crotch toward the air, "when you transform into your ape form, these moves are going to become a lot more difficult. Your coordination is going to have to match the lofty standards of the gods themselves, and if you ever tell anyone I used a word like 'lofty,' I'll have to punch you right in the ass."

"I understand."

"No, Kakarot, you don't. You may think you do, but until you're there, you can't even hope to. I had to train for years until I could control my mind in the ape form. You lost your damned tail before I even came to this planet. Trust me, Kakarot, you're going to struggle to remember your own name and what you're doing."

"No, I mean, I understood about the 'lofty' thing. I don't even know what it means, but it sounds really fruity."

"Casual homophobia aside, I'm glad you agree. And wow, I can't believe I'm the one out of the two of us who cares about casual homophobia. Then again, you probably think that's a kind of food or something."

"What's it taste like?"

"See, that's what I mean."

Goku sighed. "Why do we even have to do this in our giant ape forms, anyway? We have more control when we're in our regular forms."

"Oh, look, the expert has yet another question he's got no business knowing the answer to! Because, damn it, he isn't going to want to fuck something that's too small for his dick to fit in!"

"What?!" Goku shouted, stopping in the middle of his crotch thrust, his cheeks turning a radish-like shade of red. "Are you saying we're—"

"God, no, Kakarot, we're not actually going to have sex with the damn space pharaoh! There's no way we'd survive! But we need him to believe we want to! Otherwise, there's nothing that we can do to defeat him!"

"Isn't it just that we can… hit him? You know, use our punches and kicks and stuff? Like we do with all the other guys we fight?"

Vegeta finally stopped doing his own crotch thrusts to sarcastically put his hand up to his chin and raise his eyes up toward the sky thoughtfully. This was a gesture Goku could immediately see through, and he responded by making one of those pouty gestures anime girls make, you know, where they poof their cheeks out and get all beady-eyed and stuff. If you look up "anime girl pouting" on Google, chances are you'll run across it. Or you'll, y'know, make yourself a completely unemployable person for the rest of your life. "Gee, and why don't we just try politely asking it to leave next?! No, you fool! If that were the option, don't you think I would have suggested it?! No, Kakarot, I've been down this road before, and we have to do the only thing that will work on a foe this powerful—the surprise attack! Once we have him seduced, and he starts to make his way toward us, you and I will wait until he catches us in his embrace!"

"Oh, come on, Vegeta—"

"Be quiet and let me finish! When he embraces us, he will be effectively completely exposed to our attacks. We will then beam him through the stomach."

So three days later, the two full-blood saiyans set out for New Namek! They trained the whole way, until their groins could cut through diamonds simply by glancing at them weird, even though it's a common misconception that crotches have eyes. They don't.

Once they landed, the giant space pharaoh was immediately in their line of sight. He was a massive gold man, completely naked except for his head, which was covered by one of those weird Egyptian head-mask things. He peered down at the spaceship when it landed, but soon shrugged it off and went back to stomping idly around New Namek.

"Okay, Kakarot," said Vegeta, who was wearing his full Saiyan armor from his first appearance for the first time in several years, "I'm going to use the moon technique I showed you when we first fought on Earth. You and I are going to stare at it until we become giant monkeys. Do you understand?"

"I do," said Goku, also wearing Saiyan armor, "but I can't believe I do."

Vegeta used the technique, and it wasn't long before the strapping middle-aged Saiyans were a couple of strapping middle-aged Saiyan monkeys. No, I did not just randomly hand control of my fanfic over to Frieza, that's just what the two of them turned into.

"Hey!" Vegeta yelled at the space pharaoh. "Come over here!"

The space pharaoh stopped his wayward wandering and looked at Vegeta like the shy kid in class who is just surprised that someone actually came over and talked to them, because it hasn't happened in over a month.

"KAKAROT! NOW!"

That was Goku's cue to start gyrating his hips all around like a drunken aunt on a dining room table. Vegeta immediately began laughing when the space pharaoh's face twisted from a look of surprise to a look of pain.

"I FOOLED YOU!" Vegeta laughed as Goku's movements slowly winded down. "THAT'S JUST THE NAMEKIANS' GARDENER! HA HA HA!"

So Goku never danced again.

 **THE END**

 **Tropes:  
Giant Space Flea From Nowhere  
Nepharious Pharaoh  
One Size Fits All**


End file.
